


The Hound and the Hare

by featherjean (joyfulfeather)



Category: The Pretender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfulfeather/pseuds/featherjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Parker chases Jarod to a greyhound track in Florida.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hound and the Hare

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this request! Parts of the request and the "Dear Yuletide Santa" letter could have been written by me, so it was a great fit. I have to thank my wonderful beta, spacefiend, for pointing out the places that needed work, and for reassuring me that I had the dog stuff right (I'm more of a cat person, myself). Any errors, factual, grammatical, or otherwise, are all mine. (I've never been to a greyhound track, so. *handwave*)
> 
> Written for Melanie-Anne

 

 

Eight years.

Miss Parker closed her eyes, letting the water pour down her face. The almost scalding heat did nothing to quell the thoughts roiling in her head. She had done the math, prompted by an offhand comment by Sydney, and now the answer was stuck in her head like some damned commercial jingle.

She had been chasing Jarod for _eight years_. She had crossed the country more times than she could count, she had been to every little podunk town there _was_ , she had even crossed the Atlantic in pursuit of that wretched man. He taunted her, tormented her, offering her answers only to leave her more questions and looking at her with those _goddamn_ eyes in a way that she could _never_ respond to.

Her fingers clenched. She loosened them with effort, staring at her hand. The wear of the years was set into her flesh. The mirror was getting less kind with every year. She was getting older, and what the hell did she have to show for it? Her hand tightened into a fist again. She had lost _eight years_ of her life to that man.

 _Not to him_ , some traitorous part of her brain whispered. _To the Centre. And it's been way more than eight._

Swearing, she turned the shower off and yanked open the curtain. She had work to do.

* * *

Florida. _Again._ In _August._ She had been this close to telling Broots they'd catch up to Jarod at the next stop, just to avoid going down into the sauna of the Florida summer. But no, she'd gone. She'd chased Jarod into hell, again. This time hell was some greyhound racing track in St. Petersburg.

"Charming place," she muttered to Sydney and Broots, not bothering to conceal her contempt as she looked around. Sweaty bodies, some old, some young, most drunk, all staring avariciously down at the track. Her stomach turned, both at the odor of the place and at the spectacle.

"I'm not surprised to have tracked Jarod to a place like this," Sydney commented, looking around as well.

"You think he feels some sort of kinship with the rabbit?"

Parker pivoted abruptly, irritated by Broots' quip. She headed for a customer service counter with long, quick strides, not caring if the other two followed.

They did, of course, and of course Sydney felt it necessary to respond to Broots. "Perhaps. It's not an unreasonable feeling. What I meant, however, is that racing greyhounds are notoriously poorly treated. It's only logical that he would champion them."

"Can I help you?" The girl behind the counter smiled brightly as Parker and company reached her.

Parker held up the photo of Jarod. "Have you seen this man?"

The girl's smile dimmed at Parker's curtness, but she nodded eagerly enough. "Of course! That's Mr. Grey. He's one of Mr. Breyer's -- actually," she corrected herself with a blink, "I think he took over for Mr. Breyer."

Parker leaned against the counter. "What happened to Mr. Breyer?"

The girl lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He got _arrested_ yesterday. Everyone's been talking about it. The things they found at his place..." She shuddered dramatically. "They say the cops got a tip and when they got there, Mr. Breyer was locked up, _naked_ , in one of the dog cages."

"Really," Parker said dryly. Definitely Jarod's work. "And Mr. Grey...?"

"He was one of Mr. Breyer's assistant handlers. He took over the operation when Mr. Breyer was arrested. Least that's what I heard. He's got a dog in the race that's about to start. Number 8 -- Oh! They're off!"

Against her own will, Parker turned to watch. The mass of dogs sprinted down the track after the mechanical rabbit. It was over practically before it started. The girl behind the counter cheered, and Parker belatedly saw the number on the back of the winning beast. Eight. Of course.

It was hard to hear the announcer over the sounds of the crowd, but Parker caught enough to make her whirl around. "What was the dog's name?" she demanded of the girl.

"Miss Parker," she replied, blinking in surprise. "I heard Mr. Grey named her."

The human Miss Parker gritted her teeth and attempted a smile. "Can you tell me where I can go to congratulate Mr. Grey on his win?"

"Oh, umm." The girl frowned. "I'm really not supposed to let anyone back. Ordinarily I'd say you could wait 'til he comes out, but Mr. Grey really doesn't do public appearances or anything. He likes his privacy."

 _No kidding._ "Please." Parker put on her most charming smile. "We're old friends. We grew up together. We fell out of contact, but I've finally tracked him down here. I'd hate to lose out on this opportunity to reconnect."

"Oh!" The girl looked delighted. She bit her lip. "Oh, what could it hurt? But it'd have to just be you -- I can explain one person a lot easier than I can three." She looked apologetically over Parker's shoulder at Sydney and Broots.

"That's fine," Parker assured her. She turned to the men, her smile dropping away. "Sydney, wait up here and keep an eye out. Broots, get the car." Ignoring Broots' automatic "yes, ma'am" and Sydney's uneasy frown, she turned back to the girl, smile firmly back in place. "Lead the way."

Lead her the girl did, into a back hallway with doors on either side. The stench of man and beast was still strong here, though thankfully it lacked the additional reek of alcohol. They were a third of the way down the hall when Jarod himself stepped out of one of the rooms on the right side. He froze when he saw them.

"Mr. Grey!" the girl at Miss Parker's side called. She gestured at Parker. "I know we're not supposed to bring people back here, but she said --"

"That's fine, Wendy." Jarod managed a smile for the girl's sake. "Go on back to the counter. You know how Mr. Willis is."

Miss Parker smiled at the girl, hopefully keeping the edge out of it. "Thank you, Wendy."

The girl flashed an answering smile, oblivious to the tension in the air, and hightailed it back the way they'd come. Apparently Mr. Willis, whoever he was, was a harsh taskmaster. Parker kept her eyes on Jarod. Her hand fell to her gun the moment they were alone. "Hello, Jarod."

"Miss Parker." His eyes and voice were hard. "Come to see my prize bitch?"

She smirked coolly. "I thought I held that title."

His answering smile was ugly. "There's a reason I named her after you."

She drew her gun, keeping it lowered. "It's time to come home, Jarod."

Hurt flickered in his eyes, coupled with a dawning despair. "Miss Parker --"

The door at the end of the hallway burst open. "There he is!" Into the hallway strode Lyle -- _of course_ \-- and two sweepers. All had their guns out and trained on Jarod.

Parker swore. She belatedly pointed her gun at Jarod, who was frozen in place. "He's mine, Lyle!"

Lyle didn't miss a beat, transferring his aim from Jarod to Miss Parker. "I don't think so. You're outnumbered. Either you let me take him, or I put a bullet in your brain and I still take him. Your choice." He jerked his head at his two goons, who advanced on the prize.

She made the decision a second before they reached him. Swinging the gun, she fired. The bullet caught Goon #1 in the thigh and he dropped, hollering in pain. The other men shouted, swearing. She threw herself to the side just before Lyle squeezed off a shot. It hit the wall beyond her shoulder.

" _GO!_ " she yelled at Jarod. He didn't need to be told twice. He hit the door and disappeared into the room he'd emerged from minutes ago. Parker fired down the hall and ducked in after him. The room was full of empty crates and stank of dog. The back door was swinging closed. She sprinted for it.

Agony ripped through her left arm. She cried out, staggering and falling through the back door. Her vision fogged. She didn't see the arms that grabbed her and yanked her to the side. She couldn't fight as hands stripped the gun from her. A voice hissed in her ear, incomprehensible. She shook her head sharply, trying to jerk away, but hands held her arms in a vise-like grip. "Let _go_ of me!"

"You're hurt." The voice was Jarod's, she realized as lucidity returned.

" _Let go of me._ "

He pulled her ungently back into the shadows, away from the door. "You're hurt, _disarmed_ , and your brother's out for blood. I could leave you here. I _should_ leave you here. But you just saved my life and I might as well return the favor. _Come on._ " Before she could respond, his fingers wrapped around her arm -- the uninjured one -- and he pulled her away from the building.

She really hated it when he was right. Not even bothering to waste energy swearing, she followed him, running between the dark shapes of parked trucks and cars. Behind them she heard the door bang open. Lyle's voice carried, ordering his remaining goon to search for them. Miss Parker smirked a little at his irritation. Served him right.

Jarod skidded to a stop, smacking a palm against the tailgate of an SUV. She could barely see him or the vehicle, but she heard him open the hatch. "The doors are open," he hissed. "I'm driving."

She wasn't in the mood to argue, not when he had the keys _and_ her gun. She climbed into the passenger seat, swearing violently when she jostled her injured arm.

Jarod closed the hatch and swung in the driver's side a moment later. "Try not to move around too much," he advised her.

She glared at him. " _Thank_ you."

"Buckle up." 

She fumbled one-handed with the seatbelt, swearing again when the sudden backwards acceleration of the SUV threw her forward before she could get it fastened. Jarod muttered an insincere apology. She held on, gritting her teeth and glaring, as he swung them out of the parking spot. Somehow she managed to get the damned belt fastened before he threw the car into drive and hit the gas.

The surprised face of Lyle's goon flashed past her window. Parker twisted in her seat and saw him take aim. He fired off two shots, neither of which hit the SUV. Jarod's lead foot got them to the exit before he could shoot again. The SUV whipped out of the parking lot and into traffic, leaving the goon -- and Lyle -- behind.

Parker let out an explosive breath once they were clear, leaning back into her seat. "I _hate_ Florida."

"You don't _have_ to follow me everywhere."

"Spare me." She shifted, wincing and holding her injured arm. "Where are we going?"

He hesitated. "Motel. I need to look at your arm."

"It's fine," she told him through gritted teeth.

"You were _shot_. Even you need a wound like that cleaned and bandaged. Unless you want to lose the arm."

She kept gritting her teeth. _God, I hate my life._

It wasn't until they were out of the SUV that she realized they weren't alone. She blinked, staring in pain-fogged confusion at Jarod's companion. "What's with the dog?"

Jarod pushed open the motel room door and held it, first for the damned dog, then for Parker. Once they were all inside he let it swing closed, bolting it behind them. Only then did he turn to her, smirking. "You didn't really think I'd leave my prize bitch behind, did you?" Before she could do more than glare, he gestured to the dog. "Miss Parker, meet Miss Parker."

The human Miss Parker eyed her canine namesake. The dog was pretty enough -- dappled gray and sleek, with big eyes. She nosed at Miss Parker's hand. Parker patted her without really thinking about it, scratching behind her ears. She couldn't help but smile a little when the dog's tail started to wag. Crouching down, she stroked the dog's neck and back. "She seems sweet," she admitted.

Jarod turned away, setting a first aid kit on the table. "She has a good heart," he agreed, opening the kit. "You wouldn't have known it a little while ago. She was nearly put down for mauling a smaller dog. It wasn't her fault, though." He hesitated. "Her whole life she's been mistreated. Horrifically. She's been kept chained by cruel masters, forced to perform on command and punished severely for anything less than perfection." Softly, in a tone she knew all too well, he added, "She's never been shown the kind of affection and warmth she needed. She didn't know how to relate except through violence. It was all she'd ever known."

Miss Parker's hands tightened on the dog's back. "And what, you saved her?" she snapped. "Took her from her master, gave her a few pats on the head, and suddenly she's a giant lap dog?"

Jarod turned his head, meeting her eyes seriously. "It's amazing what a little kindness can do." He gestured at the bed. "Have a seat."

Eying him warily, she stood and immediately swayed on her feet. She pressed a hand to her forehead. "Oh." She breathed out against the lightheadedness. Before Jarod could move to help her, she sank down onto the edge of the bed. "I'm fine," she told him preemptively.

Jarod didn't comment. He pulled up a chair beside her and took her arm, inspecting it carefully. "I'm going to have to cut the sleeve off," he told her almost apologetically.

She looked down at it, grimacing. "It's ruined, anyway." Now that they were somewhere with light, she could see how much blood had soaked the fabric. Between that and the pain, it was no wonder she was lightheaded.

Jarod went to work, efficiently cutting away the sleeve and peeling it off. It took effort not to react when his fingers touched her bare skin. _How long?_ she thought, wanting to close her eyes. How long had it been since someone had touched her? Something more than a handshake. _Too long._

He glanced up, meeting her eyes. It was abruptly hard to breathe. She glanced away, blinking desperately. "I'm not some dog you can rescue," she told him forcefully.

"I know." She glanced back at him and he smiled a little, ruefully. "That doesn't keep me from wanting to try."

"You're hopeless." The words had no bite to them. There was a very small part of her that was glad he hadn't given up on her. She buried it, watching his hands instead of his face.

"Maybe." His attention never wavered from his task. He washed the wound gently, murmuring an apology when he pressed too hard. "The bullet just grazed you. It's deep enough it may leave a scar, but it's a flesh wound -- there's no damage to the muscles." He finished cleaning it and applied a bandage, wrapping it quickly and neatly. His fingers trailed down her forearm as he withdrew, raising goosebumps on her skin.

Ignoring the damning effect he had on her, she flexed the arm gingerly. It hurt like hell but at least the bandage held.

"Try not to move it much. It's stopped bleeding for the moment, but it'll start up again if you jostle it."

Cradling the arm to her, she regarded him for a long moment. "Thank you," she murmured finally.

He smiled a little, that sad smile he so often gave her. He held up a white horse pill. "Painkiller." He pressed it into her unprotesting hand. "I'll get you a glass of water."

The dog got up from beside the door and followed him towards the bathroom sink. The human Miss Parker half turned, watching him kneel to pet the dog. Even she had to admit it was a sweet sight. He looked more... relaxed, even happy, than she usually saw him. She turned away, rubbing her arm. "What will you do with her?"

She could feel his eyes on her. After a moment he said, "I'm not sure. Tonight was her last race. She's retiring."

"Lucky girl."

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was oddly gentle. "It sounds like you're as tired of running in circles as she is."

She closed her eyes. _Eight years._ Softly, she admitted, "Sometimes."

Equally softly, he said, "Me, too." He let out a breath in a sigh. "I wish I could keep her. It would be nice to have a companion. To not be alone. But as long as I'm on the run... as long as the Centre wants me... I can't have that, can I." It was a statement, not a question.

He wasn't just talking about the dog. Her grip on her injured arm tightened to the point of pain. "Life sucks," she snapped, rubbing her arm.

She heard him sigh and stand. The faucet ran for a moment, and then he came around the bed, offering her a glass. "Here." There was no reproach in his gaze. Just resignation.

She took the glass without a thank you and downed the pill. The dog padded up to her and pushed at her hand. She patted her absently, smiling a little. She really did have a sweet face.

"You could take her."

She shot him a look. "I kill _plants_."

He shrugged that off. "I'm not the only one who could use a little companionship. Maybe some of that affection we were talking about earlier?" He nodded at the dog, whose tail was wagging happily while Miss Parker petted her. "It would be good for both of you."

"You're crazy," she informed him. "I don't know the first thing about taking care of a dog."

"Maybe it's time to learn some new things," he suggested softly. He crouched down, stroking the dog's back. "I'd be happy to share any information you needed."

She shook her head. The motion made the room spin around her. She swayed, abruptly disoriented.

"Are you alright?"

 _No!_ "I'm fine." She had to close her eyes against the nauseating tilting of the world around her. Realization smacked her upside the head, making her feel like an idiot. A drunken -- or drugged -- idiot. "What the _hell_ did you give me?" She cracked open her eyes to glare at Jarod, who grinned sheepishly.

"A painkiller. I probably should have mentioned it would also knock you out. You may want to lay down before you _fall_ down."

The warning came a little late -- she swayed too far and started to topple. Warm hands caught her, lowering her gently to the mattress. He helped her shift into a more comfortable position, her legs up on the bed instead of dangling over the sides. She felt the bed dip as he sat next to her. She peeled an eyelid open. Thankfully the world tilted less from this angle. "You drugged me."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Technically, you drugged yourself. In any case, I did have your consent."

"Bastard."

He touched her face gently. "I'm sorry," he murmured. His tone held a world of regret. He bent down and, after a long moment's hesitation, brushed his lips to hers.

She was too far gone to be surprised. She was too far gone to remember why she was supposed to hate him.

She kissed him back.

His breath was warm on her skin as he pulled away. The last thing she heard before she passed out was his voice, rough with emotion, whispering, "Sweet dreams, Miss Parker."

* * *

She woke up to an aching arm, a vibrating cell phone, and a dog's face inches from her own. She groaned and dug for the phone, ignoring the curious face watching her. "What?" she snapped once she got the phone to her ear.

"Miss Parker! Where are you? We were worried..."

The hand she lifted to rub her face found the dog instead. She idly scratched at the dog's neck. "I'm fine, Sydney. As for where, I'm in some no tell motel. The White Palm or some crap like that. Room 12."

There was a pause on the other end. "What are you doing there?"

This wasn't going to be pleasant. "Just get here." She closed the phone, dropping it on the bed beside her. Swearing under her breath, she pushed herself upright. Her mouth tasted horrendous and her head ached. Drug hangover. Perfect. "I hate him," she muttered. She pushed the memory of their kiss out of her head.

The dog was harder to ignore. She demanded attention, leaning against Miss Parker's legs when she swung them over the edge of the bed. Parker obligingly petted her, smiling a little despite herself. "Looks like it's you and me. I'll try not to kill you. That's the most I can promise anyone these days."

Jarod had clearly split after she passed out -- there was no sign of him in the room. Her gun was on the table. Beneath it was a neatly folded t-shirt, presumably to replace the ruined shirt she was still wearing. She shook her head, laughing ironically. "A little kindness, huh Jarod?" It didn't change anything; he would still run and she would still chase him. But it _was_ nice.

She sighed, looking down at the dog. "At least one of us gets to stop running in circles." She scratched behind the dog's ears. "If you're going to stay with me, you're going to need a different name..."

The dog just wagged her tail. 

 


End file.
